The Wonderful Harry Judd
by midnightcrowd
Summary: "How would you describe Harry Judd?" Dougie reminisces the old times. Not necessarily romance, but close. Bromance.


**Disclaimer: I own NOT the band or the guys. Pity, innit?**

* * *

_**This happened around a year ago, when me and the lads were invited to a movie premiere one night. I had just broken up with my long-term, serious girlfriend just the week before so I attended the event all by myself.**_

I stood with my hand shoved into my trousers' pocket, shifting my weight from one foot to another as the paparazzi's frantic shouts rang in my ears. Bright flashes were blinding my eyes, but I tried not to squint too much.

"Look here, Dougie! Look here!" one of them yelled, and I turned to his direction, giving his camera my signature lazy smirk.

"Straight ahead, Dougie!" I heard another distinguished voice and I complied, looking forward and tried to look as comfortable under these cameras as much as I could.

"Where's your date, Doug?"

When I heard that particular question, I tensed. I could feel my muscles stiffened and it was as if I was in some kind of a daze that I couldn't do anything but stand there, mouth agape and all, making a massive idiot out of myself.

Of course people would notice. Of course they would eventually find out about my break-up. How stupid was I to think that I could keep it secret forever? Especially since I was coming to a red carpet event, _alone_.

"Yeah, where's your girlfriend?"

I thought about giving them some bullcrap answers like 'She's at home' or 'She caught a flu' or those shit along the line, but thought better of it. "We br-"

"She couldn't make it so I'm Dougie's date for the night."

The familiar voice that I had known too well came from my side as a well-toned arm slung around my shoulders, giving them a light squeeze.

I looked to my right to find Harry sending me a wink and grinned at the cameras. I immediately relaxed and copied his act, mentally thanking God above for giving me such a wonderful man as a friend to stand by me at all times.

_**What was on the magazines the next day, however, was enough for Harry not to do that ever again. I'm not going to reveal much, but let's just say the journalist was rather keen on a boyxboy relationship.**_

* * *

_**I remember this happened around the time when we were still living together in the McFly House. I was sixteen at the time and Harry was seventeen, almost eighteen. Cue the Sound of Music soundtrack.**_

"Dougs!"

Harry's voice came from the hallway, trying to locate me. It was very sudden and I, who was currently making my first attempt at shaving my newly-grown stubble, almost jumped in a surprise. My reaction, however, resulted in a small cut running down my jaw, the colour an angry red and it _fucking_ _hurt_, I tell you.

"Shit," I cursed under my breath as I ripped a handful of toilet paper and dabbed it into the wound. It wasn't _that_ deep, but still deep enough to let some blood seep through. I cringed as the material touched my open scar, hoping to myself that it wouldn't leave any mark. It was bad enough if the guys found out I had only _started_ to shave - whereas they had done it for quite some time then - let alone injuring myself in the process. I would definitely be the laughing stock for the next five years. Or ten, for that matter.

"Dougie?" The door to my bathroom opened to reveal Harry's head poking through the gap. I proceeded to curse myself as I realized I hadn't locked the door.

Harry's eyebrows knitted together, probably wondering why on earth I was holding a toilet paper to my jaw, shirtless and all. "You alright, mate?"

"Yeah," I said quickly, trying my best to act natural and casually hid one hand - the one which was holding the shaving blade - behind my back.

But I must not have been too convincing as Harry stepped into the bathroom, brows creased. "Are you sure you're alright?" His voice sounded cautious.

"I am!" I said - or more like half-yelled. It must've sounded very suspicious because Harry looked even more wary.

What happened next was in a blur, as a split-second later, Harry was already stood before me, grabbing my hand from behind my back and brought it forward. He gasped.

"Dougie, have you been cutting yourself?"

If I wasn't too embarrassed by the actual truth, I would've laughed at him and told him how stupid it was for him to think that I would do such a thing. But I kind of _was_ pretty embarrassed. So I kept quiet.

"Doug?" His tone a little more assertive. "Dougie, mate, you know you can talk to me, right?"

I was still quiet at the time, debating to myself whether or not I should tell him that I was just trying to shave, dammit.

"Dougie," he said again, more softly this time, "have you been cutting yourself?" The look on his face was a mix of worry, aggravated, apprehension, and I think a little disappointment.

_Well this is stupid_, I thought to myself and rolled my eyes. "I was shaving, you bloody idiot."

When he was processing the words I'd just told him, I swear Harry's face then was the funniest thing I've ever laid eyes on. His once worried face turned into one of confusion, then puzzled, and finally realization. "Oh!"

I snorted and went to throw my bloodied toilet paper in a bin.

"Why didn't you tell me then? I was so worried I thought you were trying to kill yourself or something!" he yelled.

"Because I was ashamed, okay?" I yelled back.

Harry creased his brows. "Why?"

"It's..." I looked down at the floor, trying to hide my burning face. "It's the first time I do it."

My remarks set him silent and he paused to do a thinking face. "What do you mean, 'first time'?"

"What else is it supposed to mean, Judd?" I groaned, grabbing a t-shirt and pulled it over my head.

"'First time' as in the first time? Like ever?"

"Yes, Harry, it's the first time I try to shave and I ended up cutting myself." And then quickly added, "Accidentally!"

"You- You cut yourse-" Harry didn't even try to contain himself before he burst out laughing obnoxiously loud. Both of his hands clutched his abdomen which I bet was aching severely - serves him right!

I sighed, knowing all too well that this was going to happen. It was only a matter of seconds before he got up and told the other two about the young Dougie cutting himself when he tried to shave for the first fucking time. And then after a good ten minutes of Tom rolling on the floor and Danny doubling over and Harry slapping his knees in a laughing fit, the three bastards would just go about and tell everyone - literally.

I watched with a scowl on my face as Harry stood straight back up, wiping tears from his eyes which he had shed after laughing so hard I was worried he would hurt himself. Wait, no, I wasn't worried. The guy's a jerk. "You done laughing?"

"Oh, Dougie. I forgot how funny you are sometimes," he said between deep breaths, exhausted as if he'd run a marathon.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm going outside." ..._before you or Tom or Danny could make further fun of me_.

"Wait! You still aren't done, are you?" Harry asked, his face mere inches from mine as he tried to get a better look at my half-shaven stubble.

I squirmed, uncomfortable by the sudden proximity. "So?"

"Well, don't you probably want to finish it?"

"Mate, in case you weren't aware, I _cut_ myself the first time. And I don't fancy the idea of me cutting myself for the _second fucking time_ in a day. So if you'd excuse me," I grumbled, trying to shove my way past Harry.

"Naw, come on. You're not going to cut yourself." Then he bit his lip to stop himself from laughing, "...again."

I ignored the last bit. "How are you so sure?"

Harry grinned. "Because I'm going to teach you how to shave like a man, kid."

_**And that's the story how I'm able to shave properly now. I find Harry that day to be such an angel. Apart from when he laughed himself to cry and when he told my apparently hilarious 'accident' to Tom and Danny. That mingin' git.**_

* * *

_**I remember that day quite well. It was within the second week that we'd all gotten our own places away from each other - although still in the same street.**_

I cussed a train of obscenities to myself, ranging impressively from all the classic stuff to zoo occupants to human's vital organs. Of all the times in the world, it just had to be tonight that my car had to break down.

It was very late and I think it was closer to dawn than to midnight. The street was barren to the point where my Audi was the only vehicle present. But of course, the machine's not running. Because everything in Dougie Poynter's life just _has_ to go wrong.

I bumped my head several times for a good measure to the steering wheel, unintentionally honking my horns rather loudly but I wasn't the one to care. Nobody was still up anyway.

And that's the fucking problem. _Nobody was still up_. Nobody was there to help me with my life crisis. My car just broke down in the middle of the street and I couldn't get it to the garage or call them for that matter because _it's fucking closed_.

Oh, did I tell you I was at least ten miles away from home?

So I wallowed in misery, having my lifetime memories and highlights reeling in the back of my mind. This was it. I was going to die, in the middle of nowhere, without nobody by my side, and without an offspring or two.

Goodbye, life. Goodbye, mum. Goodbye, Jazzie. Goodbye, Harry. Goodbye, Danny. Goodbye, Tom. Goodbye, James, Matt and the other member of Busted. Goodbye, Fletch. Goodbye, Mr. Rashman. Goodbye, lizards. Goo-

What the _hell_ was I doing? I wasn't going to die there. Or at least I wasn't going to die then. If I was going to die, at least let it be when I already had a pot belly and receding hairline and right on the verge of death itself. Not when I was at the peak of my existence, being at the top of the world and all.

So I did what any reasonable person would do. I called Harry Judd.

When I dialed his number through my speed dial, my heart was pounding with apprehension of him already gone to bed (most likely) and had his phone turned off (less likely).

Ring number three, ring number four, ring number five, ring number si-

"'ello?"

I almost cried in joy. "Harry!"

"Doug?" His voice was groggy and grumbly and mumbly, no doubt still in bed, pressing his phone to one ear as he tried to rub some consciousness into his eyes.

"Haz! You're awake!" I exclaimed, euphoric.

"I am now. Thanks a lot, dude," he said, annoyed.

"Haz, please, you've got to help me," I said, almost pleaded. "Or else I'm going to die."

"Sure." He yawned.

"I'm serious, Haz. I just got back from my mum's and now I'm on my way home and smack in the middle of the street, my car broke down and no garage is still open at this hour and it's fucking freezing an-"

"You stay right there, Dougie. I'm coming over." He hung up.

_**Harry had to phone me back after that call, however, as he just realized that he had no idea where I was. But the point is that even when he was half asleep, he had it in his mind that he needed to help his friends stay out of trouble.**_

* * *

"Well, that was very touching and all, but you didn't exactly answer the question, Dougie."

I crease my brows. "Sorry, what was the question, again?"

The interviewer sighs, exasperated. "It was 'How would you describe your best friend and your bandmate, Harry Judd'?"

I smile. "He's just about the most wonderful human-being that you will ever know."


End file.
